


Blood and Darker Things

by simplescribe



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bestiality, Branding, Cages, Choking, Come Swallowing, Conditioning, Dogs, F/M, Forced Petplay, Love Bites, Master/Pet, Mental Breakdown, Mind Games, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Psychological Torture, Ramsay is his own warning, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sadism, Sexual Violence, Stockholm Syndrome, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Torture, Vaginal Fingering, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 01:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7338448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplescribe/pseuds/simplescribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the lords cleared his throat loudly with mock theatrics, and the girl peered up at him, eyes squinting in the early morning sunlight. "Hello." He greeted her jovially, a wolfish grin splitting his face, grey eyes glinting. He was smaller than most of the others, but dressed in fine black riding leather, astride a blood bay courser, black-socked and lean. Thick black curls framed a young, handsome face, but there was something about his eyes, his smile, that made her afraid. "Listen..." he said, leaning forward in the saddle conspiratorially, "We're going to give you a bit of a head start. It's only fair." His face was pleasant and reasonable, but the gleam in his eyes was predatory. When the girl didn't move, he frowned a little, "Well, don't just stand there. Time's wasting. Run." he urged, smile widening again. He reared his horse to break her out of the stupor her confusion had locked her in, it's black legs flailing menacingly inches from her face. "RUN!" he bellowed, laughing wildly as she sprang up like a rabbit, stumbling away into the forest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Chase

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is my ode to Ramsay, the glorious bastard. It's obviously going to be very dark, and I may be slow in writing it, cause I'll have to dig deep, especially in the later chapters. This fic is based on show-Ramsay, because he's much more attractive than book-Ramsay.  
> This first chapter has been in my mind for some time, and I'm not entirely sure where it will go from here, but I hope you enjoy. Tags will change as I write more chapters.

The girl's feet, bare and bloody, splashed noisily through the trickling stream, and she nearly slipped and fell on some of the icy wet rocks. The forest blurred as she picked up speed, whipping past her as she nimbly sped through the wood, ducking, dodging, jumping her way past every obstacle. Gnarled roots jutted up at random, trying in vain to trip her, but years spent playing in the woods near her home had left her quick and lean. Dressed in naught but her shift, bewildered, she was at a disadvantage, but made up for it through a powerful motivation. The hounds' baying came softly behind her, louder and closer than it had been a moment before. Heart thudding in her chest, she focused on keeping her pace up, breathing rapidly.

 

Last night she had been cleaning up at the inn, a modest little thing just off the main road that ran north through the Hornwood. The owner was an elderly matron that had taken the girl in when she had wandered in from the road, half starved and bruised, an orphan of war or raiders or some other tragedy. The girl hardly remembered that, she'd been so young. All her customers for this night had been well past waking, snoring loudly in the common room or upstairs in their own paid lodgings. She had just gotten the bar well washed and scoured, and had been carrying the bucket out back to dump when something heavy had come down hard on the top of her skull, and the world had gone black. 

 

She'd woken to a dim morning light, stripped near naked and in an unfamiliar wood. It had taken a few moments to understand her predicament, and through the haze the booming barks of three thickly muscled hunting hounds had pierced her foggy mind like a knife. Her surroundings came into sharp focus with the sound, and she blinked up at half a dozen lordly-looking types sneering down at her from horseback. The hounds were straining crazily at the ends of creaking leads, barely contained by their burly male attendants. Their foaming jaws snapped towards her as she felt a hot tickle run down the front of her face. Tentatively, she reached a hand up to wipe at it, fingers coming away bloody. _Must've been from earlier,_ she thought absently, wiping more away to clear her vision. The dog's eyes seemed to glow with malevolence, their efforts redoubled with the scent of her blood. 

 

One of the lords cleared his throat loudly with mock theatrics, and the girl peered up at him, eyes squinting in the early morning sunlight. "Hello." He greeted her jovially, a wolfish grin splitting his face, grey eyes glinting. He was smaller than most of the others, but dressed in fine black riding leather, astride a blood bay courser, black-socked and lean. Thick black curls framed a young, handsome face, but there was something about his eyes, his smile, that made her afraid. "Listen..." he said, leaning forward in the saddle conspiratorially, "We're going to give you a bit of a head start. It's only fair." His face was pleasant and reasonable, but the gleam in his eyes was predatory. When the girl didn't move, he frowned a little, "Well, don't just stand there. Time's wasting. _Run_." he urged, smile widening again. He reared his horse to break her out of the stupor her confusion had locked her in, it's black legs flailing menacingly inches from her face. " _RUN!_ " he bellowed, laughing wildly as she sprang up like a rabbit, stumbling away into the forest.

 

The situation became pretty clear to her as she ran. She was the quarry for some sick lord's hunt. She had, of course, heard the whisperings about the cruel, flint-eyed lords of the Dreadfort to the north. A stab of fear shot through her belly as she remembered the look in the eyes of the man who spoke, and she felt certain that he was of these sadistic lords. Not that it mattered much anyway- to someone as lowly as her, he could've been the lord of a tiny hold, or even a landowning farmer. He had horse, and leather, and dogs, and she had nothing but her bloody feet and rapidly deteriorating shift. Panting heavily, she surveyed the area, starting to recognize things as she oriented herself with the rising sun. She had come up this far in her boldest rangings, and an idea began to take root in her mind. Spurred on by the baying dogs, she stumbled forward beside the trickling creek as it steadily widened, still so shallow it could easily be walked across. 

 

The ground became rougher and rockier as she continued, and the creek had grown to a respectable size. She had been following it upstream, and finally came just where she wanted to be. A tiny waterfall stood in a small clearing, pooling the creek's water into a shallow rocky basin. The girl stared up at it, mind already picking out a quick climbing path up one side. The waterfall was naught more than a bit of water flowing over the rocky shelf, so she could still hear the hounds clearly behind her. Picking a meandering path back and forth across the water had bought her a little time, but they would soon be on her. She stamped around the edges of the pool quickly, leaving bloody footprints on the rocks, before sitting and quickly scrubbing at her feet, washing away most of the blood that had caked there, although more welled up to replace what she had dislodged. She plastered some broad leaves on her feet, giving a moment for the blood to stick to them, heart pounding as the hounds' barking grew louder. 

 

Soon she was scrambling up one side of the falls, grabbing at roots and jutting rocks for hand and footholds. Her body ached, but she hardly noticed it for all the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Once atop, she shook out her long auburn hair, feeling around near her scalp to where she had woven in a tiny stiletto. The inn's matron had given it to her on her twelfth name day. "Thigh sheathes are useless," her mistress had told her as she helped to weave the tiny bit of steel into the girl's hair, "First place a man looks."  She'd had just enough time to bite the stiletto between her teeth and heft a large rock when the first dog skidded to a halt at the base of the falls, nose to the ground with rapt concentration. The second quickly followed, but not the third. _Thank the gods,_ the girl thought, _the third must've gotten lost._ Knowing she wouldn't have much time before it caught up with it's fellows, she raised the rock and widened her stance, staring down intently at the snuffling dogs. As one passed directly beneath her, she sprang, letting loose a strangled cry of rage as she landed heavily on top of the hound, rock smashing down directly on the beast's head. She heard a satisfying crunch and the dog went limp beneath her, it's thick body breaking most of her fall. Shaken, she stumbled off the inert body of the first dog, clumsily transferring the shank from her mouth to her hand. She looked up just in time to see the other hound rushing forward, teeth bared in a vicious snarl. Noticing the thick leather collar, she reached out an arm at the same time as the dog leapt for her throat, turning her body out of the way and hooking a hand underneath the collar. Rough claws scratched her arms and chest, but she brought the stiletto up with the other hand and drove it deep into the hound's neck, digging and twisting to ensure she'd gotten a killing blow. The dog howled and screamed, and she fell with it, driven down by it's immense weight. Blood soaked her, and the dog still snapped weakly at her face. She locked her arms and used all her strength to keep it from biting her as the dog's life ebbed away with it's blood, out the wound and into the pool. Panting, she withdrew the stiletto, rising wearily up from the dead hound, swaying, just as the third came into the clearing.

 

Glinting black eyes regarded her cooly.  She felt bruised all over, but took a stance as the dog stared at the bodies of it's pack mates. It seemed to regard her with new respect as she stood before it, splattered and soaked all over with hound blood. Head low, it's eyes never left her face as it padded in a slow circle around her, coming closer. Her sharp eyes detected the moment it tensed, muscles bunching, readying itself to strike. She grasped the bloody stiletto as it leapt in, white jaws flashing so fast she hardly saw them. Teeth like a thousand daggers bit deeply into her forearm where she blocked the dog, it's jaws like iron as they clamped down hard and with an air of finality. She pulled the dog about, screaming as her own struggles tore flesh and muscle, and she thought that surely her bones would bear grooves from this dog's teeth forevermore. With a triumphant scream, she drove the stiletto up, through the hound's black stone eye, up into it's brain. The thing gave a shudder, and went limp, sinking to the ground, it's other eye gone dull and lifeless. She fell with it again, it's jaws still clamped tightly on her arm, not releasing even in death. Tears streamed down her face as she worked to pry it's still-warm jaws open, clamping a hand over the bloody ruin of her forearm as blood pooled and dripped from the deep gashes there.  She stood, bloody, wet, covered in mud, just as a horse galloped into the clearing where the dogs had come from.

 

The lordling reared up his red stallion, surveying the scene before him with hard eyes. A furious scowl darkened his face as his cold gaze flicked from the bodies of his hounds to the bloody girl, swaying there in the pool of dark water, hand clamped on a nasty-looking bite. The stiletto glittered on the stones where she'd dropped it, bright red blood stark in the morning light. She could hardly stand, dizzy from blood loss, hardly seeming to see anything before her. The lord's hand twitched and clenched into a fist, so tempted was he to finish the job and avenge his fallen hounds. She watched dully as he scowled down at her, until a considering look crossed his face that turned into a rakish grin, wide and radiant, although his eyes held the same furious malevolence they had a moment before. His jaw worked, clenching even as he grinned, and he turned his horse back round just as she began to fall. The world went dim, distant, and finally black. She heard his words to the other horsemen as if from a great distance.

 

_Bring her._

 

\------------

 

It was a long while before she woke again. She lay on hard stone cobble, and it was very dark. Her ruined shift had been replaced with a shapeless long tunic of dark roughspun, scratchy and unflattering. She noticed with some embarassment that she had no undergarments of any sort, and the tunic was not so long that her modesty would be saved if she bent the wrong way. She felt heavy all over, and her probing fingers felt with dull surprise that her bite had been tended and dressed by someone while she slept. As she moved, something cold and heavy clinked at her throat. With quiet horror, she felt around her neck at the iron collar that had been welded there. She felt for a catch, an opening, but her fingers felt only smooth metal all the way around, a small O-ring jingling at the front of it. Her eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness, and she peered around at the rough stone walls. Three stone walls, and in front of her was a tall metal gate, iron bars reaching up floor to ceiling. She stepped forward timidly, hands grasping the cold metal and giving it a rough shake. The noise reverberated in the cramped stone structure, and the world erupted in a baying of hounds. The girl huddled down, clamping hands over her ears as her heart thudded with terror at the noise, mind still raw with the memory of being chased. "Shut up in there!" came a man's thick cry from somewhere down the corridor, beyond the bars, from whence she could see dim firelight filtering down to her cage. The dogs quieted immediately, and she took care not to set them barking again, not wanting the man to come out and see her awake. Her situation was pretty clear to her now. As payment for killing the lord's hounds, they'd taken her as a replacement. She turned, blurry eyed, sinking down onto the bit of straw piled in one corner, and wept.


	2. Kennel Boy

Cold morning light filtered in through the gap between wall and ceiling, and she woke with a start as yesterday's events flooded back with startling clarity. She shivered with cold. The thin tunic didn't provide much warmth, and it hardly even covered her bottom as she sat on the icy cobbles. She moved away from the straw she'd slept in, to a patch of sunlight as it made it's slow way across the right wall, feeling the tiny sliver warm her where it touched. Movement made her wince, and she felt at the raw scrapes on the soles of her feet. Beside her, the stirrings of the other hounds vibrated into her bones. The massive creatures sent tremors up through the ground when they began to move about. She shivered, fearful, and her hand grasped absently at the bandage on her arm where she'd been bitten. _Bloody monsters,_ she thought.

The iron collar had not been easy to sleep on, it was large and ill-fitting 'round her slender neck. Her skin was rough, a blister on the edge where it had pressed into her as she slept, and she scratched sourly at it, knowing there would be worse to come if this was all she'd got from the meager hours she'd been asleep. There was a creaking as a gate was opened, and she froze anxiously. The noise set the hounds baying deafeningly, the girl retreated to the far corner, hands on ears as she waited. A voice cut through the din, young and high, with a low-born lilt to it. There was much cursing and swearing involved as the male voice commanded the dogs into silence, and she listened as more gates were opened. 

"Get out, y'beasts." The voice came to her from far to the right, down the corridor. She felt the seismic thudding as two burly hounds ran excitedly down the hall, sniffing about. They paused at her gate, a confused expression on their dopey faces. One made a growl low in it's throat, but the voice whistled sharply and it came away, head low. 

The girl listened quietly to the shuffling and scratching beside her, heart pulsing painfully. With quick determination, she slunk over to the wall and climbed up. The rocks were rough and broken in places, and they stabbed at her injured feet, but were just enough to give her a way up to the ceiling gap. Peering over at the next stall, she observed a young kennel boy spreading fresh hay around the floor. He was thin and scraggly, with an unruly mop of sandy blonde hair. She nearly fell down in haste as the boy was replacing the hounds, and had just crawled to her corner when he came to stand in front of her cage. He looked sheepish and embarrassed by her scant clothing, a dusting of pale freckles across his blushing face, and stared hard at the ground as he opened her cage door. 

She jumped at the clang of the door opening, unconsciously pressing back into the corner even though there was nowhere to go. "M-'m sorry." the boy stammered. "Jus hafta clean the cages." He brought out a wooden bucket and set it in one corner apologetically, then gathered up the old straw while the girl shifted away uncomfortably, back to the wall as she stared hard at the boy. His work was quickly done, fresh straw spread sparsely on the hard floor, but he paused nervously at the gate, glancing back at her. There was a moment of deliberation before he rummaged around in a pocket, producing a hard heel of bread. He held it out so that she could see, then set it down on the floor before turning and locking the cage, stiffly hurrying away down the unseen corridor. 

She relieved herself in the bucket as soon as she was certain he was gone, but the bread remained untouched for many hours. As she watched the sun's progress across the wall, her stomach growled loudly, and she eventually gave in, crawling suspiciously over to the heel and picking it up. It was rock hard and a little burnt on one side, and she sniffed it dubiously, but soon was chewing on one end, saliva helping to soften the hard loaf. She really wished she had some water, fingers touching lightly at her cracked lips. 

Another fitful night passed, and she groaned at the rising sun, feeling bruised all over from two nights on hard stone floors. After some fearful peering into the bit of corridor she could see from her bars, she used the bucket again, nose wrinkling at the odour. She crumpled some straw on top and moved to the opposite corner. Her body creaked and protested the movement, having been run so hard and then confined to this harsh cage. She was stretching lightly when she heard the sound of the kennel boy, returned for his morning chores. 

She sat, more relaxed than last time as he approached her cage, and watched him closely. He replaced the bucket, and then handed a canteen towards her with a grin. "M'lord said I could give you water today." He looked embarrassed at what he's said, hesitating, but held the water out farther to her. She was suspicious, eyes narrowing at the proffered item, but her thirst was too great and she eventually snatched it from his hands. He smiled sheepishly again and went about the rest of his chores as she greedily drank half the bottle. 

He left her alone to her thoughts once more, stewing in anxiety over her fate, cringing at the hunting dogs' comings and goings in the cages near to her. It was nearly sun down when he returned, bearing a pail of water and a roll of fresh linen bandages. He moved slowly, carefully, as if concious of the girl's fear. "M'lord said to change your bandages..." he explained, holding up the pale neat roll of cloth. Quite suddenly, her heart was pounding in her throat at the thought of letting this boy close enough to dress her wound. She glanced at the slightly bloodstained rag around her arm, bits of straw and dirt sticking to the rough fabric, and relented, holding her arm out in surrender. The boy grinned, visibly relieved, and stepped over to change the bandage. 

When it was done, she was only trembling very slightly, and the newly wrapped linen looked tidy on her arm. The boy nodded gratefully at her, eyes darting away at first sign of contact, a sly smile on his face as he turned to go. Once again, at the door, he seemed gripped with indecision, and froze in place with one hand on the bars. With stiff, jerky movements he removed his simple cloth foot coverings, leaving them on the floor of her cage. He turned a look on her, wide eyed and fearful, and she watched his chest rise and fall with painful-quick breathing. He said nothing, but exited the cage, pausing for a moment in the corridor. Their eyes met, and his eyes were full of pity, and fear, and a deep imploring look that she _understand something._  

She was just lifting the shoes from the floor, listening to the boy's footsteps retreat down the hall, when she noticed the cage door had been left unlocked.


	3. Escape

She touched the free-swinging door with light, incredulous fingers. Her heart was trying to beat it's way out of her chest as she pulled on the foot bindings, which were a little loose, but they'd help her scabbed feet immensely on the rough ground. The last light of the day was just fading around the horizon when she slipped out the barest crack in the door, careful not to make a sound. The boy had left her the canteen, and she was pretty confident she could forage once she was out in the woods. There was the problem of her garment, but she couldn't think about that now. She had to get away, get to an inn somewhere down the road, maybe cut her hair short and then keep running...

The castle grounds were eerily silent, torches flickering ominously from their sconces, but not a soul in sight. She spied the porticullis from where she crouched at the end of the hall. She'd been caged in some sort of outdoor kennel for hunting dogs, and it was very near the exit to the forest beyond. The gate was drawn, of course, but a small door sat closed beside it- hopefully the path to freedom. She needed to be fast, yes, but if they weren't searching for her she would gain a formidable head start, and hoped to make her way to a creek large enough to throw off the inevitable hounds. A chill wind blew through the courtyard, and she shivered, bare legged and freezing, as she streaked across the dim yard. Keeping low as she headed for the door, she clutched the ring that hung from her cold metal collar to keep it from jingling. She prayed silently to the Seven that the door would be unlocked. 

With a hesitant push, the door opened,  groaning slightly. The noise was like a bolt of lightning to her in the still night air, but she slipped inside without delay. The interior was dark and smokey, a fading torch providing dim light to the stone room. She took the stairs on the left, twisting upwards and through another door before arriving atop the walls. With a growing sense of dread, she leaned over the parapet, trying to measure the distance down in the dark. 

There wasn't really any time to think when a guard might appear at any moment. Her mind was screaming at her to flee, _flee!_ , so she hopped over the wall, hanging onto the edge of the balcony and looking down. She felt taller than the trees, looking down, and began having second thoughts about her plan when her trembling good arm gave out without warning, and she plummeted into the bush, barely stifling a scream. 

When she woke up a few seconds later- at least she hoped it was only a few seconds- the night was dark and silent as she rolled onto one side, hands clutching her spinning head. She probed numbly at each limb and her torso, searching for painful areas or broken bones. One side of her back seized and screamed at a touch, well-bruised but not broken. A dozen scrapes and cuts marred her smooth bare skin, thorns dug into her painfully from the rough scrub. The iron collar had cut her on a sharp edge, a little weeping wound on one side of her neck. She got to her feet shakily, putting a hand out on the smooth stone wall while she tried to get her bearings. It took a few moments, but she was soon stumbling off into the dark forest. 

It was slow going with her wounded feet. Determination drove her forward, but after the first hour or so her wounds, lack of food, and the fall began to take their toll on her young body. She limped a little, more from the seized muscles in her back than anything. She checked all over for any profusely bleeding scrapes, and was relieved to see she had none, deeply worried about the trail she was leaving for dogs to find. It seemed like an eternity before she finally came crashing through the underbrush into a clearing, a creek running quietly through the middle. She looked at it gratefully, deciding to remove her foot wraps in order to keep them dry.

Walking on the jagged stones was pure agony on her barely healed feet, but she pushed herself forward. The icy water numbed her feet after a few minutes of soaking, and she would pause in the water whenever the pain felt too great to move forward. It was then, as she paused in the silent waters, listening to the songs of the earliest morning birds while dawn blushed the sky to the east, when she heard distant hoofbeats. Fear stabbed cold through her belly, and she ran, heedless of pain, desperately searching for an animal den or other small tuck to hide herself in.

She did find one, a dirty hole in the ground, she guessed it was maybe a marmot hole. Knowing it would be bigger on the inside, she dug frantically around the low entrance, crumbling hard earth away to stuff herself inside. Little roots and pebbles dug roughly into her skin and raw feet, but she was soon completely hidden, scooping earth and leaves over the entrance to hide her escape. All the while, the hoof beats grew louder and louder, and she peered out the tiny entrance just as the horses burst through into the clearing, nicely visible from her hiding place. 

It was easy to pick out the young lord from where she watched, his blood red courser standing out starkly in the gathering dawn. He wheeled around the snorting mount, looking about with a fierce gaze. Black hair, black leathers, he looked a dark and frightful figure even next to the burly and scarred brutes of his retinue. After a moment's conference with their lord, the other horsemen galloped away in different directions. One came so close to her hole she felt the ground shake, bits of earth flying into her face from the hooves speeding so near. She prayed a silent thank you that the animal did not pass directly over the hole and crush her, and began awkwardly pulling on her foot wraps in the cramped space in case she had to run.

The lord remained at the crossroads, a look of smug satisfaction visible on his face even at this distance. The girl was just wracking her brain on what to do next when she heard the distant barking of hounds. Anxious tears nearly overwhelmed her at the sound, and she felt her chances plummet. She was dirty and injured, but she had not been able to outrun the hounds even at her best. The lord turned his courser towards the noise, grinning, and she took the opportunity to scramble out of the tuck, making a break away and hoping the lord would not see her, but he must have heard her desperate scramble because she heard a horseman's cry, and the rhythmic beat of hooves keeping time behind her as she sprinted. 

She was quite fast through the forest, making sure to take the deer and rabbit paths, ducking branch and jumping root in an attempt to lose the larger animal amongst the tangle. She ran, and ran, surprised at her own endurance, when just before she had felt almost spent. The horses were just beginning to sound nice and distant when she crashed through into a large clearing. The pitted road stood before her, or some offshoot of it, and she realized fully she had no idea where she was anymore. Finding the creek had probably been pure Gods-given luck. _Mother have mercy,_ she prayed silently, just as the bloody courser appeared on the road at one end of the clearing.

He was some distance from her still, pausing at the clearing's edge. The lord and her stared hard at one another for the barest of moments, then she turned her head, looking across the road, to the edge of forest on the other side of the clearing. She was significantly closer to it than he to her, and she looked back at him for an instant before dashing forward, attempting to cross the open field before he caught her. He whipped savagely at his courser with a cry, spurring it into a frantic gallop, streaking like a bloody wound towards her on the muddy road.

She was nearly there. Legs pumping furiously, the once-loud hoofbeats seemed so distant now, all she could hear was the blood pounding in her ears, the panicked beating of her own heart. A shadow fell over her, and the lord's rope encircled her from above. He'd cast his lariat with deadly accuracy, she tried to jump, to escape it, and almost did, but it cinched around her ankles, and she was suddenly jerked backwards, landing face first in the dirt a few paces away from the tree line. She gasped as the air was knocked out of her, and saw white stars burst until she was able to draw back a ragged breath. 

The world was just beginning to come into focus, and she had remembered to wonder what the little lord was doing, when everything became a blur of sound, colour, and pain. She heard the manic laughter of the lord as he spurred his horse again, tearing up dirt and dragging his captured quarry behind him. Stones, roots, everything pummelled into her like oaken clubs. Just the speed alone was enough to send her crashing up and down painfully on the hard packed earth, teeth clattering together so harshly she thought they might crack. The collar was cold and sharp against her skin as she was dragged. One particularly unfortunately placed rock collided directly with her nose, and she felt it crunch, hot blood blossoming across her already swelling face before it too was swept away in a torrent of mud and grass. 

She must've blacked out along the way, because when she came to, she was lying in the castle's courtyard, feeling as though her body were one massive wound. It took awhile for feeling to return to her limbs enough that she could move them- she could move all of them, thank the _Gods_ \- and she squinted through sunlight, dizzy, as the lord dismounted and handed off his reins. He had a sly grin on, and rubbed his hands together energetically as if preparing for a great feast. _Find the boy,_ he ordered, _and heat the iron._ Was that right? She'd seen his lips move, but the voice sounded very distant, as if underwater. Her world was being drown out by a deafening high-pitched whine, and she shook her head, using the back of her hand to wipe blood from her mouth and eyes. One eye was already starting to swell shut. Amazingly, the rough spun tunic had survived mostly intact, but she had been dragged by the feet, and had cuts and rashes all over her legs and ass. Sickly purple-green bruises were beginning to darken her skin in large blotches wherever it was visible. The man crouched in front of her, roaming eyes taking in her bruised and bloody figure with a deep satisfaction. 

"Runaway hound." He crooned as he admired her. "But it wasn't really your fault, was it? Somebody left the door open..." She froze where she was on the ground, feeling much like a rabbit with the hawk's eye upon it. He rose slowly and turned to where two men were dragging the young kennel boy across the courtyard. He looked petrified. An older, burly man stood to one side, wringing his hands nervously as his eyes flicked from the boy to the lord and back again. The lord ignored him, smiling relaxedly at the boy, although she noticed that his eyes glinted with hunger. The girl slowly lifted herself into a sitting position, gingerly lifting one leg with her arms, as a lancing pain shot through when she tried to move it by itself. 

The lordling looked very serene and patient when he addressed the trembling boy. "Now, boy, I want you to answer my questions directly and honestly, without any..." he searched for the words, "...unnecessary chatter. Do you understand?" His eyes bored into the young boy, a predatory threat behind them despite the man's pleasant face. The boy gulped uncertainly, eyes flicking to the bloody girl and back to the lord's face rapidly, but he eventually gave a quick nod, blue eyes locked with stony grey ones.

The lord clapped his hands suddenly, making both captives flinch nervously. "Good!" he exclaimed, "Now. Did you leave the hound's cage door open?" He watched the boy's face twitch nervously, looking like such a child, and he looked past to where his father waited anxiously, but the lord stepped towards him, blocking out the view of his father. He raised eyebrows impatiently, and the boy stammered out a trembling, "Y-y-yes m'lord. B-b-but..." 

The lord silenced him with an impatient hand, dark eyes hard. "You know we can't stand for such forgetfulness. What if some of our beloved hounds had run off, and gotten lost? How would they ever find their way home if we had not been out to find them?" He shook his head like a disappointed father, giving the boy a stern but sympathetic look. It vanished quite suddenly, like night frost melted by dawn's light, and he turned to one of the men who held the boy roughly by his shoulder. "Kill him." He spoke flatly, without emotion, turning back to regard the girl where she sat on the ground. The kennel master took a step forward, brown eyes glistening, but the lord shot him a look so dark it froze him in place, dry mouth hanging slightly open with shock. 

"M-M'lord!" The boy's voice was loud and high, pinched tight with desperation. "B-b-but you said t-" His words were cut off with a thick gurgle as the guardsman's knife cut smoothly across his slender neck, dark red blood welling up and spilling over the neat slice. He had a shocked expression on his face, wide eyes beseeching his lord, before he dropped to his knees, falling forward into the dirt as blood pooled around him. The lord just smirked, then turned his attention back on her. He looked past her then, grin widening, and she heard the crunching footfalls of someone approaching from behind. It was agony to turn her body to see, but the look on her lord's face made her stomach knot, and she had to know what was behind her. 

A servant, he looked to be a blacksmith, was striding over, two lesser servants attending him. They carried between them a large brazier, the red coals of a well-stoked fire flickering blue-hot and beautiful inside. The lord cleared his throat expectantly, and she turned back with a wince. "As acting Lord of the Dreadfort," he began, and her heart fluttered anxiously. _The Dreadfort?_ Gods, she'd heard such stories... "It's my responsibility to ensure the well being and security of all our livestock." There was a clink behind her as the blacksmith placed an iron rod into the brazier.

"We've never had need of such measures with our hounds before, but in this case I find it prudent to make an exception." He looked the girl in the eyes, grinning mischievously. "Now, in case you find yourself lost again due to _someone's_ foolish negligence," he shot a look at the kennel master, "Any who might happen upon you will know precisely to whom you should be returned." He crouched again, leaning in towards her and speaking low. "Have you ever heard of a city called Volantis, girl? A proud and noble city, we in Westeros could learn much about order and efficiency by studying them. They say that the Volantene slave-masters tattoo their slaves on the left cheek, a different mark for each type of servant, so all who look upon them may know their station and function." He traced a finger down his left cheek, from eye to chin. "However, seeing as we're speaking of animals, I thought this would be more appropriate..." She felt the heat of the iron as the blacksmith passed it across to his lord, who held it steady for the girl's inspection, just as two men stepped up to hold her in their stony grip.

The iron was red hot and glowing, the brand a large X with a delicately wrought figure of the flayed man, stretched painfully upon the rack. _Bolton..._ her mind offered absently, while the lord placed a gloved hand on her shoulder to steady himself. Taking a deep breath, he barked a laugh, and drove the hot iron into her cheek while she screamed, and screamed, until the world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is pretty twisted, and not everyone is into that, so if you can dig it please tell me. :) Any constructive criticism is appreciated as well.


	4. Feeding Time

Life after that became a series of noises, colours, sensations. She lay on a flat surface, in a dim and quiet room. The agony and relief of someone sliding her kneecap back into place. Cawing ravens. Someone leaning over her, pasting a strong smelling ointment thickly over one side of her face. Delicately clinking metal, like little bells. She faded in and out of consciousness regularly, or woke spluttering as some odd liquid was tipped down her throat. One day, when she was concious enough to sit up, she was allowed to eat soft bread soaked in broth. Ravenous, she wanted more, but the old man took it away before she could tear her shrunken stomach. The sun moved silently across the wall as she listened to the quiet mutterings of the old man who cared for her. At one point she could hear him speaking to a low voice in the next room over.

"My lord, she could die. It's nothing short of a miracle she hasn't already." came the urgent, wheedling voice of the old man. She couldn't make out the low response, but the maester did not argue further. That night, she fell again into a deep and dreamless sleep, and when she awoke, she was lying on the cold, rough ground of the kennels. It was night again, and she slowly took note of the changes to her cage. The bucket was there in the corner, but also another one, close to her, that held clear water. She sat up, body creaking, and groaned. Being passed out on hard cobbles had not helped her already battered body. She lifted the fresh roughspun tunic in places, observing the sickly coloured half-healed bruises. They were so progressed, she wondered at how many days had passed since her branding. Her vision was limited by the swelling of her cheek and eye, that had still not gone away completely. Her face was a mask of pain, but at least they had left her lying on her good side, and the oozing mess of a brand was relatively free from dirt.

She knew it was bad. It hurt, it leaked, it throbbed like an angry bee sting. She moved with shaking legs over to the bucket of water and peered down at her dark reflection. It was hard to make out in the dark kennel, but as she turned her face in a beam of moonlight, she got the general idea. One side of her face was swollen and red, like an angry apple, the blackened slash of an X standing out starkly even in the dark. It was too weepy and swollen to tell if any of the flayed man's details had survived Lord Bolton's joyful gouging. The stories she'd heard late at night, whispered by travelers, surely had a large grain of truth to them, if the young lord's manner was any indication. The hunger, the excitement... the man was truly a beast, and now she had to find some way to survive him.

The last escape had gone disasterously for her, but what was the defining factor of her failure? She took a deep drink of water and leaned stiffly against one wall. Horses, she thought. If she'd had a horse, she might've put such distance between herself and this Gods-forsaken place that they'd never've found her. She'd not ridden much in her short life, only fooling about on patron's horses when she'd been told to brush or water them. Her skill was really moot, because horses were the key, and her best hope. She had no idea where the stables were, having never noticed them so far, but she resolved to locate them. She'd had half a mind to climb up and peer out the roof gap, but when just trying to stand made her so dizzy and ill she had to sit again, she gave up the idea. Leaning against the wall, she fell into a restless sleep, waking as the castle woke with sound and activity.

The nearest sounds to her were those of the hounds, and what she figured to be the kennel master. She listened to him opening the cages, feeding the hounds, cleaning out straw. It had been his son's work before... she thought, surprised that she felt sorrow for a boy she did not know. The big man came up to her cage, and his face fell as he looked at her. He carried a bowl of some sort, steaming in the cool morning air, the smell of hot porridge wafting over to her, causing her stomach to clench and growl painfully. Their eyes met, his red rimmed, palpable waves of rage emanating outward, hers swollen, bruised, and tired. He lifted the bowl near the bars of the cage, and slowly let it tip over, thick oats slipping out to plop onto the dirty stone floor. His eyes never left her's as he did so, the empty bowl clattering to the floor, before he turned on heel and walked away down the kennel hall. The girl stared at the soiled porridge with hungry eyes, but did not move, merely wrapped her arms tighter round herself and curled inward for some semblance of warmth.

\------------------

  
Days passed. At first, she was consumed with anxiety, her mind obsessively turning over every torturous possibility for her purpose there. When would the lord come for her? What was going to happen? She slept fitfully every night, and each day she leaned against the timber walls of her cage and watched the sun make it's way across the floor. She healed, slowly, and even got a little used to sleeping outdoors on stone and straw. Thank the Gods it was still summer. After that first day, the kennel master had grudgingly brought her her daily bowl of porridge, dropping it roughly by the entrance then quickly locking up again. The first week or so he would glare menacingly at her, but after that he just looked tired, and sick, not having the energy to hate her any longer, resigning himself to his work and his grief.

Her burn was healing as well as could be expected. Every few nights, the old maester would come down into her cage and she'd have to hold still while he applied strong-smelling paste to her wound, muttering all the while. She said nothing to him, having no way to tell if he was friend or foe, even if he did treat her wounds. He shuffled his way out of her cage, locking it behind him while she watched with sullen eyes, her burn stinging from the ointment. The swelling had gone down to where she could almost see out of both eyes.

The girl was dozing one morning, her stomach growling painfully. She hadn't received her daily meal the past two days, and was ravenous, wondering anxiously when her next meal would be coming. Leaned up against the far wall of her stall shortly after sunrise, her head was nodding forward and snapping back uncomfortably, when the clank of a cage door brought her fully awake. Scrabbling paw steps echoed down the hall to her, followed shortly by another cage door opening. Two hounds sped down the hall to peer into her cage a moment, before looking back at something and running excitedly away. There were more cages opened while she listened, until finally soft-booted foot falls brought the lord who'd branded her into view. He strutted confidently down the hall while a dozen hounds sniffed excitedly all around him, before turning towards the girl, regarding her with bright eyes. He seemed to be taking in the progress of her healing with no small degree of fervour, before selecting a key and unlocking her cage. The sound and movement made her flinch, but he simply held the door open and beckoned her forth. No hound entered, they merely milled about the entrance, wagging energetically. The girl braced herself on the wall, about to stagger to her feet, when the lord made a short hissing sound, and she looked up sharply. He pointed two fingers down at the ground, a reproachful look on his face, until she slid back down to the floor, and he nodded happily. Confused as she was, he beckoned again, and she took a tentative crawling step forward, causing him to beam happily, the grin sending shivers down the girl's spine. She crawled awkwardly to the door, her body creaking after it's brutal treatment and confinement, stones digging into her hands and knees painfully. She paused at the door, heart thudding as she approached the slobbering beasts that gathered there, and looked up beseechingly at the lord.

"M'lor-" she began, but was immediately silenced by a sharp sting across her cheek. Her hand flew up to clutch at her burn as she stifled a cry of pain. The lord was holding a thin switch she hadn't seen before, and had cut her across the cheek, her burned cheek, which was now leaking blood onto the dusty floors. Her eyes squeezed shut, the small cut was agony on her half healed skin, and she looked up through watery eyes at the lord after a few moments. He was staring down at her with a wide grin, she could see his chest rising and falling heavily, and slowly lifted a finger to his lips to make a hushing motion, then patted his leg and turned down the hall, all the hounds instantly following behind him. The girl was frozen in place for a moment, the prospect of leaving the cage again striking a strange sort of terror in her. She felt the cool morning breeze through the thin tunic she wore, particularly on her bare legs- crawling had done nothing to add modesty to her attire, and she felt the shame creeping up her neck, until the sharp crack of a switch through the air snapped her out of it, and she hobbled outside.

Adjusting her gait, she was able to pick up speed by hopping along on her hands and feet instead of crawling on her knees. The lord didn't seem to mind, in fact, he was walking rather brusquely, so she needed to hurry to keep up with him. Her muscles screamed in protest, and the iron collar bounced up and down as she went, cutting into her collarbone at the edges, but she tried to ignore it all, the cut across her cheek still alight with bright pain, focusing her. The sunlight was direct and blinding as she peered out from the entrance to the kennels, and she looked around at the milling servants and men-at-arms, whose eyes would flick to her for a moment and then point decidedly away. She wondered at what a sight she must be- her long hair was now nothing more than a snarled rat's nest, bruises still coloured her skin in dark patches, which was to say nothing of her face. She spotted and approached the milling mass of hounds, as the lord had stopped near an outbuilding, and was speaking with a servant there. The hounds had paused as she came up and were staring at her with black eyes. One stepped forward as she approached, and then they were all about her, sniffing, pushing heavily up against her. One particularly large one knocked her on her butt, while their thin tails pummelled her like whips, to where she could do little but shield her face and shiver. A sharp whistle brought them away, and relief flooded her as she tentatively brought down her arms, to see the lord, a servant carrying a bucket of sorts beside him. The lord lifted a bloody red haunch of some game animal from the bucket, then threw it in an arc to land among the hounds. Snarls and growls erupted, vibrating through the ground and up into the girl's chest as the hounds fought for the meat. The lord looked on happily, tossing another bit of meat into the fray, and another, until all the hounds were gleefully chewing away, with only minimal snaps and growls here and there. Despite her fear, embarrassment, and revulsion, her stomach growled loudly, apparently heedless of the horror of her situation. The lord was watching her slyly, and lifted a bit of meat with his black gloved hand, dangling it back and forth mockingly before tossing it her way. Reflexively, she reached out to catch it, saving it from the dirt, but once it was in her hands, she was unsure what to do with it. Her stomach continued to growl, the bloody scent wafting strongly up to her. She raised it to her mouth tentatively, eyes flicking up to the lord, who just nodded encouragingly. One of the hounds raised his head, nose twitching in her direction, and she quickly bit into the raw flesh, suddenly afraid that the dogs might come at any moment to steal it from her. Saliva flooded her mouth as she chewed through the tough, gamey meat, but soon enough she had worked off a few mouthfuls from the centre bone and swallowed them greedily.

"Good girl." came the lord's voice, while he finished tossing more pieces to the rest of the pack, watching her gnaw all the meat from the bone he'd thrown her out of the corner of his eye. Her stomach still growled, and began to cramp in short order, but she was still grateful for the bit of food he'd given her. She sat in the dirt, crouching low for fear of reprisal, trying her best to hide her naked legs and bare ass from a castle's worth of strangers all about her. The hounds had all finished their meal and were bouncing about, full of energy, and she watched as horses were brought up and saddled, noticing the lord's red courser at the head. Beside her, he called to the kennel master, who came over quickly. "Take her back to her kennel." he told the man, "She's not well enough to take on a run just yet." The man nodded too quickly, wringing his hands nervously, eyes flicking down uncomfortably at the dirty, feral looking girl with the blood stained mouth. He began walking towards the kennels, but when the girl didn't immediately follow, torn as she was between the lord with his stinging switch, the cage she'd just been freed from, and the hundred eyes of the castle's servants, he came back, impatient, and grabbed her loose iron collar, half dragging her through the dirt like you would an ill mannered dog. The lord didn't seem to mind her rough treatment, just watched her with sparkling eyes before turning away to mount his horse. She was back in the hallway when she heard the call to open the gates, the hounds barking excitedly while horses whinnied and pawed the earth, and the door to her cage was locked again before the hoofbeats of their departure had even begun.

\-------------------

That night, the girl was sick. She wretched painfully into her waste bucket, sickened beyond imagining, her stomach seizing with needle sharp spasms. She wretched up all of the half digested meat, and then the bit of water she forced herself to drink, over and over until her eyes ran with tears and her stomach ached with exertion, the cramps finally subsiding in the early morning hours. She fell into a dazed sleep, somewhere between dreaming and waking, and thought she heard soft-booted footsteps and the clank of iron doors. When she awoke fully later in the day, a few strips of cured meat lay on the stone floor, a few inches from her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, finally an update to one of my oldest stories. New GoT has inspired me, even if Ramsay is gone... (sob)


	5. First Hunt

"When will Lord Bolton be coming back?" the woman's voice wasn't more than a hushed whisper, but the girl could hear it from where she sat, leaning against the stone and timber of her kennel. _Curious,_ she thought, _I thought_ that _was Lord Bolton._ She thought of the flinty eyed Lord who'd chased her down, who held the iron and the switch, and shivered.

"Hopefully soon, Gods be good," came the whispered response, "All willing, we'll survive without any more of us dyin'. That poor kennel boy..." there was a pause, and then, "That _bastard_ will pay-"

"Shh!" The short, clipped sound was a harsh rebuke. "Gods, do you _want_ to die? If Lord Ramsay heard you call him that..." There was a bit of shuffling, hurried footsteps, and arguing voices trailing off beyond the range of her hearing. She stared up at the beam of morning sunlight peeking through the gap between the roof and walls, mind working on the new information. Ramsay, which apparently was his name, who'd taken her, wasn't really a Lord after all, but a bastard... The information felt significant, and yet, she couldn't think of how it would change her situation in the slightest. Even a lord's bastard was higher than her. She could pray that the real lord Bolton would be kinder than his son, but somehow, she doubted it. The castle was called the Dreadfort. Their symbol was a flayed man. Just how kind could she expect him to be?

She'd been learning much from her days spent sitting and listening to the castle around her. Besides basic information like where she was, she'd learned about the inhabitants, the servants and men at arms, that lived here. Some of the men were loyal to Ramsay- she remembered the others who'd looked down upon her from horseback the day she'd woke in the woods, but most were just doing their best to stay out of his way and survive him. From what she'd heard, the kennel boy hadn't been Ramsay's first act of violence against the servants of the Dreadfort, and she doubted it would be his last. She knew no one would take pity or aid her escape- in fact, everyone was a potential enemy, as even the meekest servants would see thwarting her efforts as an opportunity to get on Ramsay's good side. The kennel boy must've been some sort of anomaly, though the girl could remember something he said before he'd died, about being told to leave the door open... She shivered again in the cool morning air, her stomach turning, and rummaged around in her tunic for a piece of jerky, her breakfast.

She kept it there to keep the rats and bugs at bay. Every day, Ramsay came to her and fed her some, along with the other dogs. He hadn't forced her to eat raw meat again since that first day, when she'd gotten so ill. It had taken her days to fully recover. She knew she would see him soon, and chewed quickly. Soft foot steps announced his arrival, as much as the clanking of kennel doors and the excited barking of the hounds. She'd started to learn some of their names, since Ramsay had begun taking her out on runs with them. There was the Jeynes, Red and Grey, there was Jez, and Helicent. The biggest dog was called Maude. Willow was the smallest, and usually ate last. The girl had thought to befriend her, seeing as she seemed to be meek, but had quickly found her to be too vicious, eager to raise her standing in the pack by bullying the girl who only wanted to be her friend. It was better to stay on the edge of all of them. It was better, even, to stay close to Ramsay, who would hiss the dogs away if they started to get too rough with biting her. Even so, she had scrapes and bruises all over her bare arms and legs.

"Good morning, Bitch." Ramsay said brightly. The girl wasn't sure who had first started the name- she'd heard the smallfolk whispering about her, calling her Ramsay's Bitch, before he'd ever called her that. But it had stuck, and he and his men had quickly adopted it, calling and jeering at her any chance they got. She took the name without complaint, figuring it to be the least of the indignities she suffered on a daily basis. Even the short tunic had become some sort of normal to her- though her face had still burned red the day she'd tripped, running along a forest path, trying to keep up with the pack, and been sent sprawling into the dirt, her ass and cunt flashing for all to see. There had been a great deal of laughter and lewd jokes made, but she'd gotten up and brushed the dirt off and continued hurrying to keep up with the running hounds and men on horses.

Ramsay unlocked her cage and turned, walking to the courtyard without a second glance, confident that she knew her place well enough to follow him out, as did all the dogs. She ambled along on the ground properly, as he wanted, dirty, hair snarled, looking more and more beastly every day. He was feeding the hounds, their normal routine, and threw a bit of jerky into the dirt beside her, which she quickly snatched up and chewed on ravenously. She knew she'd need the energy for the day's run. Her previous wounds had mostly healed, but there were new ones, fresher ones, either from the dogs or one of the men correcting her for improper behaviour. She'd learned quick enough how to avoid most of these, and so had built up a thin sort of strength in all her limbs, enough to keep pace with the pack when she needed to. At least they didn't expect her to flush rabbits or track deer.

Soon enough the gate was raised and they all walked through it. In the beginning, when she'd first been allowed out the walls, she'd been roped from her collar to Ramsay's saddle. It had been difficult to keep the proper pace, and more than once she'd been thrown to the ground and dragged a few feet before he'd remembered and slowed enough for her to stand. Given his laughter, she assumed he'd done it on purpose, more than once. Eventually, however, the day had come where she'd been allowed out freely. The freedom had been terrifying- she had stayed close to Ramsay anyway, fearful of punishment for straying even a step too far. Indeed, a few days later, once she'd gotten more comfortable, she had paused at the edge of a pond they'd stopped at, peering over the edge at the sight of her own face in the noonday sun. She was unrecognizable. The brand was bright pink and raised up from her skin in bumpy lines. The sigil was barely recognizable, besides the round head of the man, it mostly looked like a large X that intersected on her cheek, going across the bridge of her nose, as well as crossing her chin, then reaching up beside her eye, and over to the edge of her jaw. Tentatively touching the shiny pink line right near the corner of her eye, she was silently thankful for Ramsay's steady hand- a fraction of an inch closer, and she would've lost the eye. She had been so lost in her inspection of herself that she had missed the whistle calling the pack to move on, and one of the men had come to find her. She'd been beaten severely, first with the flat of his sword, terrified she would be cut or killed, and then just with fist and boot. Limping home that day had been difficult, and she hadn't had the strength to chew her tough dinner jerky, instead going to bed hungry and miserable.

The woods were more familiar to her now. They rode from the main road out into game trails that led all around the castle. They set out as usual, onto a winding trail that shot off left of the main road, but soon took an unfamiliar turn away from the castle that confused and frightened the girl. She followed close to Ramsay, staring around at the foreign terrain, until the trail began to widen into a small clearing, where the men and horses had all paused, the hounds sniffing excitedly all around them. Fear shot through her chest like a bolt- seeing them arranged in a circle like that reminded her too much of waking up surrounded, of being told to run. Indeed, her stomach churned as Ramsay turned and gave her a knowing smile, then turned back to the men, stretching lazily in his saddle. They all seemed to be waiting for something.

The girl sat down in the grass near them, having been taught before that she was only allowed upright, on two feet, when outside, because it was the only way she could keep pace with the group. Whenever they stopped, she would drop down to hands and feet, otherwise one of the men might come up behind her and kick her roughly to the ground. She was picking at a wildflower, twirling it between her dirty fingers, when the sound of a rider approaching caught her attention. The men, too, all looked up, anticipatory, at the approaching hoofbeats.

One of Ramsay's men rode into the clearing, turning his horse about and trotting forward. He had something slung across the back of his saddle which he rolled to the ground with a rough shove. The girl felt cold sweat break out across her skin as the thing stirred a little, and she realized it was a person. A girl. She wore simple clothing, proper, modest layers for a girl her age, in the dull brown and white colours of a farm girl. A few of Ramsay's men dismounted, encircling the girl just the same as the hounds, who were nearly frothing with excitement, jumping about, one of them giving an excited yip before it was shoo'd away by Ramsay's rebuke.

The men who'd dismounted nudged the girl with their boots, but she seemed to be out cold. Then, laughing, they dropped down beside her, running their hands over her legs and torso, squeezing her breasts through her dress. The girl wanted to flee, imagining that, quite likely, all of this had happened to her when she'd been knocked unconscious and taken, but Ramsay was watching her closely, his grey eyes flicking over to her in equal turns as he watched the show before him, so she stayed frozen in place. A ripping sound echoed in the clearing, as one of the men had grabbed at the girl's clothing and ripped it wide, revealing her thin white shift beneath. There was much jeering and laughter among them, while more fabric was ripped away and discarded, leaving the girl mostly bare, save for the shift, and looking extremely vulnerable.

The men lifted the unconscious girl's legs into the air as if they were going to fuck her, but just mimed a bit of humping as another joke, laughed uproariously, then lifted her garment to display her cunt, showing it around to everyone. The girl looked away at that, staring hard at the ground and breathing heavily, her mind spinning, until a sharp whistle made her look up reflexively. Ramsay was staring hard at her, and their eyes met for a moment before her's darted away, unable to meet his gaze for more than an instant.

"Ready for your first hunt, Bitch?" Ramsay asked, but she knew better than to speak in front of them. More laughter. Then, the farm girl mumbled a bit, stirring, and the men gave each other a knowing look, straightening up and mounting their horses, while their new prey mumbled and began to blink her eyes open beneath them. She stood slowly, shakily, squinting up and turning about, seeing the horsed men all around her. The girl watched the fear settle into the farm girl's eyes as realization dawned.

"Please, m'lord..." she had already begun to weep, tears streaking her dirty face, turning about in confusion, unsure who exactly to address. "Please, have mercy, I'll do whatever you want..." The hounds barked excitedly around the edges of the circle.

"I want you to run." Ramsay spoke clearly, his voice ringing out across the clearing. The girl, however, just sank down to her knees, great heaving sobs wracking her chest as she began to cry in earnest. Ramsay rolled his eyes impatiently, then flicked a hand to one of his men, who had been uncoiling a whip. He cracked it right beside the girl's leg, dirt flying where it had struck the ground. She screamed, jumping away from it, then scrambled to her feet and began to run, disappearing around the bend of a trail. The hounds watched her go, all of them tensed like bowstrings, drool falling from their jaws as they looked to where she'd disappeared, then back to Ramsay. "A little bit longer..." Ramsay said slowly, raising an arm, then sliced it downward through the air, causing the hounds to take off sprinting after the unfortunate prey, and the men spurred their horses to follow. Startled, the girl pulled herself up quickly and tore after them, not wanting to be left behind and found later.

She had to push herself hard to keep up. Their quarry was running for her life, and it showed, as they followed her winding, desperate trail. Thorns whipped her legs and roots threatened to trip her as she ran behind the horses, ducking and weaving through the scrub so as to not lose sight of them. Fire burned in her lungs as she sprinted along, panting heavily, until a scream rang out, disturbing birds from the trees. Cold dread settled in her stomach as she slowed to a jog, turning a bend to see the horses clustered around the source of the screams, all dismounted. She hung nervously behind the horses, not wanting to see what lay beyond, until a sharp whistle brought her forth- the snarls and growls told her all the dogs were already present, so the whistle could only be meant for her.

She began crawling slowly around the horses, dropping down to the ground and giving them a respectful berth, feeling cold and distant as the scene unfolded before her. The girl was on the ground, dirt staining her white shift, one of Ramsay's men between her legs, rutting away like a beast. She was screaming, whipping her head side to side in agony while two other men held each arm up above her head, faces merciless and mirthful. The man's groans and grunts could be heard above the girl's anguished wailing, the sound of it making her sick to her stomach. She saw herself in the girl, knowing this had been her original fate, that she had somehow escaped. The farm girl's scream increased in pitch as one of her captors drew a thin blade across her cheek, laughing in a high pitched titter. The one fucking her leaned forward to draw his tongue across the wound, licking up the blood gleefully. She couldn't look at the scene any longer, her eyes roaming around for something else to focus on, settling eventually on Ramsay, who stood a little ways away, dogs milling about his feet, twirling a dagger in one hand. He was staring at her from across the distance, a pensive look on his face, for once, not smiling. His eyes turned to view the girl's rape impassively, although a dark hunger burned there, as if he were drinking in the scene like wine.

The first man signaled his end with a long groan, thrusting roughly and shuddering, before rolling off the girl and standing, lacing up his breeches. Immediately, another took his place, half hard cock already out, guiding himself inside the girl with one hand. She wailed again as he entered her, voice cracking, while the man who'd finished drew his knife. First, he tore open the front of her garment with one rough jerk. Then, he grabbed at her breast, pinching the nipple roughly, grasped it, and drew it outwards, bringing the knife close. The girl turned away just as the screaming began, clutching at her head and shaking all over while the men all laughed. She huddled into herself, turning her back to the scene, rocking silently on the balls of her feet. Soft footfalls crunched on dry grass while she clutched at her ears, trying to block out the screams, until she noticed black-clothed legs standing beside her. She stayed tense, screwing her eyes shut as the screaming continued, until a hand wrapped it's way into her tangled hair and wrenched her up, turning her to face the scene. Ramsay shouted against her covered ear, "Look!" so she shakily lowered her arms and cracked open one eye, fearful of the repercussion of disobedience.

The girl was still screaming, although hoarsely, her arms scraping at the air above her while one man pressed both of his arms into her shoulders to pin her to the ground. A third had taken his turn at fucking her, although her bottom half was at a higher angle while he thrust downwards into her- it took a moment to realize he was fucking her ass. Blood coated her white shift, which lay in tatters around her naked body. Cuts scored her body all up and down her arms and legs, the majority of them on her inner thighs. Her left breast was a bloody ruin, the nipple completely gone, as well as several deep cuts which bled profusely, running down her torso and smearing the grass. Ramsay held her still, hand wrapped painfully into the nest of her hair, where she crouched beside him on the ground. He kneeled down beside her, releasing her hair, now that she was frozen in shock from what she was seeing.

"That could've been you, Bitch." He crooned in her ear, "It still could be. Never forget that." He chuckled low and petted the side of her face before standing up, calling to his men to hurry it up. They nodded, the one fucking her speeding his pace into a hasty orgasm, all of them standing and staring down at the ruin of a girl, who looked now just like so much meat. _Meat_ , the girl thought to herself, still shaking. _Prey_. She's just like the deer. She's just meat. She felt herself drifting away, distancing herself from the thought of that meat as a person, as someone like her, though Ramsay's words still rang in her mind. She wouldn't forget.

Ramsay barked out an order, and the hounds descended, ripping into it, finalizing the idea of it as simple meat in the girl's mind. They tore open her chest, eating ravenously, tugging on limbs until they cracked and gave way, the smell of slaughter permeating the air. That smell stayed with the girl all the way home, and drifted into her dreams all night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who reads this :3 It means a lot.


	6. The Great Hall

The sound of plates clinking tickled the girl's ears from her spot on the floor. Fire crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows from the large dining table in the middle of the great hall. Only two people sat at the table, eating, while servants came and went with pitchers of wine and platters of food. The girl was seated on the stone floor, beside Ramsay's chair, periodically glancing up at him when she was certain he wouldn't glance down at her. He was smiling, chewing on a bit of meat off the end of a pewter fork. The girl glanced at the knife in his other hand, and quickly looked away, casting her eyes downward to a crack in the stone floor that she had been tracing with one finger.

"We bred Kyra today." The woman who sat across the table from Ramsay said, in a high and clear voice, while a servant came over and filled her goblet with more wine. Ramsay carved off another piece of meat, nodding.

"Good," he said, "She'll make fine pups. I have some names waiting for the bitches." His smile widened, gleaming white teeth showing while he chewed. There was a pause, and the girl shifted her position on the hard floor, her ass feeling cold and her legs cramping uncomfortably. She moved slowly, afraid of what Ramsay might do if she annoyed him in any way. She had never, ever set foot inside a building other than the kennels, until tonight. Unexpectedly, Ramsay had come to her cage just as the sun was beginning to set, unlocked it and beckoned her to heel. She'd entered the hall, shamefully avoiding the critical eyes of the house servants, then been told to sit on the floor beside Ramsay's chair, and remained there in silence since.

The girl's little movement caused the tension in the room to flare, palpable and crackling. The silence became strained, and Ramsay even glanced over at her, though he didn't look at all displeased. He lifted something from his plate, a bone, and tossed it to the floor. It landed in the dirt with a thunk, and she looked at it, bits of hay stuck to the bottom, for a moment before picking it up. It smelled wonderful, and although most of the meat had been carved off, there were still tiny morsels she could chew at if she tried. Brushing it off a bit, she lifted the thing to her mouth, glancing up nervously at Ramsay for confirmation, but he was looking ahead again, not paying attention.

"I don't see why you have to let that thing inside." the woman across the table said irritably. The sound of flatware being set down harshly rang out. Ramsay set his own utensils down more slowly and leaned back in his chair, one foot on the edge of the table. "It's disgusting. I can't believe you haven't just killed it yet."

"I know it's disgusting." he replied slowly with a sardonic smile, "That's the whole point." He rocked back on the legs of his chair, hands folded across his stomach. "What do you care, anyway? I thought a kennelmaster's daughter would love a new dog."

She sniffed audibly, sounding haughty. "Not a disfigured little runt like that. What's it's use? Better to put it out of its misery." The girl felt cold, and swallowed painfully. The boy Ramsay had killed was this girl's brother, by the sounds of things.

"It's use, Myranda..." Ramsay began slowly, speaking as if to a child, "Is that it pleases me. Something you ought to understand a little better." He lifted the pewter knife from the table and began absent mindedly turning it in his hands, picking under his nails with the tip. The woman just scoffed angrily, and the thick silence descended once more. When she stood, scraping the heavy wooden chair across the stone floor, the girl flinched and unknowingly shuffled closer to Ramsay.

"Thank you, my _lord_ ," she emphasized the word sarcastically, and the girl watched all humour drain from Ramsay's face, "For the meal. I must be going, I have things to attend to." She started to stalk off towards the doors, furious, but her path took her past Ramsay, whose hand darted out and wrapped harshly around Myranda's wrist. She stopped, glaring down at him, and the girl inched away from them a little, heart thudding rapidly in her chest, unsure what was about to happen. They simply glared at one another for a prolonged moment, before Myranda tried to break Ramsay's hold on her with a twist of her arm, but he rose violently, knocking his chair to the ground, and gripped her throat. She made a choked gasp, her other hand shooting up to try and pry at his fingers, without much success.

The girl was shaking now, her mind flashing back to the girl in the forest, the blood, the screaming... she placed two trembling hands on either side of her head, trying to physically press the thoughts out of her head. Beside her, Ramsay and Myranda were just staring at one another, sharing some sort of wordless communication, before Ramsay leaned forward and kissed the woman, deep and primal, harshly, as if he wanted to devour her through her mouth. She kissed back, going limp, no longer trying to pry his hand from her throat. A new anxiety replaced the old in the girl's heart as the pair backed up into the table, bumping roughly against it, and then Ramsay was scraping all the plates and goblets and half eaten dishes onto the floor, lifting Myranda with one hand on her throat and the other firmly grasping her ass. He slammed the woman onto the now cleared table and leaned back in to kiss her, grabbing both wrists in one hand and pinning them above her head. The dog-girl, at her place on the floor, was blushing furiously, and folding in on herself in an attempt to escape her unwillingly vouyeristic position. She had a moment of wonder at the extreme embarrassment she felt, when just a few days prior she had watched a girl stripped and fucked by three men right in front of her, but had felt very little by comparison.

There was heavy panting and small moaning noises coming from the table now, while Ramsay straightened up a bit to tear at Myranda's dress, ripping the simple garment at it's seams and pulling it off her shoulders in violent jerks. Her hands were working too, now released from their position above her head, she was fumbling at the laces of his breeches, undoing them quickly and pulling them down to release Ramsay's cock to the cold air. The girl looked away before it happened, turning her back to the scene and trembling slightly, wishing she could melt into the floor, praying that they had forgotten about her presence on the floor. A sharp, chilling whistle told her that they hadn't, and she jerkily turned back towards the pair, unable to stop herself from obeying the conditioned command.

Ramsay was staring down at her from between Myranda's legs, his shirt pulled halfway up, his breeches down around his knees, looking pale and powerful in the firelight. He was hard already, standing straight at attention, and although the girl had little experience in the matter, his cock looked rather large and intimidating, from her perspective. Myranda's hand was on it, stroking slowly, while she trailed fingers up and down his muscled abdomen, grabbing a handful of his shirt and tugging him down towards her. Ramsay's eyes lingered on the girl for half a second more, a barely restrained, warning look in them. _LOOK!_ The screamed command echoed in the dog-girl's ears, and she knew if he caught her hiding again, it would be very unpleasant. She forced herself to turn fully around, kneeling respectfully with a reasonably straightened back, staring forth at the table so as not to get herself in any trouble.

The pair were still kissing deeply- Ramsay had pinned Myranda's wrists up again, and broke off to kiss down her neck, biting a little to illicit louder moans. He fondled her breasts with one hand and his mouth, biting down on her nipple and pulling it roughly, causing the woman to squeal a bit before he released it. One hand went down between her legs, testing her readiness before he grabbed his cock and began to guide it inside, his hips moving excitedly a few times before he found his way. Catching on her entrance with an audible groan, he slid slowly into her, the pair of them moaning together while the girl's face burned with discomfort and shame.

Ramsay began to thrust in earnest, shaking the table a little each time. While one hand remained pinning Myranda's wrists, the other sought purpose, at first caressing the woman's face, then sliding down to her slender neck, grasping it, and squeezing, cutting off her moans with a choked little squeak. His pace increased, a dull slapping flesh-on-flesh sound echoing in the large hall. The girl spared a glance around for the kitchen servants, but they were entirely scarce, probably hiding until this was over and they could clean up the mess. She snapped her head back towards the table, heart pounding, but Ramsay was so engrossed in fucking, he hadn't noticed her momentary lack of attention.

Myranda was beginning to struggle a bit, her arms twisting in Ramsay's grasp, while urgent little noises escaped from her constricted windpipe, but he wasn't really paying attention, merely rutting away feverishly, his pace increased to a frantic tempo. She managed to slip one hand free and claw at Ramsay's grip on her throat, breaking his reverie for the first time, to where he actually looked up at her face, noticing how red and purplish it had become, he barked a laugh and released his grip on her throat. She gasped and panted in sweet air, submissively returning her hand to it's position above her head, while he just pressed a hand into her face, pushing it aside and hard into the table as if he didn't care to look at her anymore. Approaching his climax, his quick pace faltered, and he thrust deep inside her with a shudder as he finished. She moaned appreciatively, her hands now released, she combed them through the soft curls of his hair, until he straightened up, stuffing his cock back into his pants and lacing them back up. At this, he spared a glance at his dog-girl, and, finding her to still be watching, grinned down at her. His eyes trailed down to Myranda, half naked and freshly fucked, who hopped off the table and was rearranging her clothing into something presentable enough to make it back to her chambers and change. Thick cum dotted the floor beneath her, having dripped down out of her cunt, Ramsay got a wicked look on his face and turned to his dog, motioning her over with crooked finger. She hobbled forth, looking confused and worried, and he pointed down at the cum on the dusty stones.

"Clean that up." He said, while Myranda rolled her eyes and stalked out of the hall, her purpose fulfilled. When the girl reached a hand out to wipe at the fluid, Ramsay hissed shortly, causing her to jump. She looked up at him, and he gave a curt shake of his head, then smiled mischievously again. Sick realization dawned on the girl, and she looked at him, then at the cum, and back, but his face had already grown impatient, so she quickly leaned down, mouth open, and licked a long wet line upon the stone, gathering the salty cum up and swallowing it quickly, trying to hide her disgusted face in the floor before she straightened up, glancing at Ramsay nervously. He simply nodded, reaching a hand out to pet her head affectionately, to which she flinched, but it was a simple pat, and her heart regained it's normal pace as he turned and walked away, her hobbling along behind him.

He returned her to her cage, the moon shining high above the castle, silvering the world, and paused, key in hand, looking at her thoughtfully. He grinned, demonstrating the door's ability to swing freely, then pocketed the key and strode away, leaving her confused and disquieted. After nearly an hour of anxiety, she crept forward and tested the door, which squeaked loudly when she pushed it open a crack. The noise nearly stopped her heart, and she scrambled away instantly, the dead eyes of the kennel boy shining out of the dark of her memory, as her her branded face began to prickle and itch furiously, she pressed herself into the farthest corner of her cage, curled up, and fell asleep, her back firmly towards the open door.


	7. The Stallion

It was a long, cold walk to the dumping pits, the girl carrying her waste bucket one handed, the other rubbing her shoulder in a vain attempt at keeping warm. The predawn air was chill, and her thin garment did very little to protect her against it. At this time of day, she could make the walk there and back upright, because enough of the castle still slept- it felt good on her aching legs. She upended the bucket hastily, watching it splatter into the stinking pit, then shoveled a customary heap of dirt over top, and began hurrying back to her cage. Though, it wasn't exactly a cage anymore, but she could hardly call it her home. Now that the door was left unlocked, it was expected that she clear out her own waste, change her own hay, and do the same for all the hounds. Holding the keys felt foreign and queer, and every day she cleaned, she thought of the honest-faced kennel boy who'd died for her.

There was some activity near the gate, she noticed, which was odd for such an early hour. A dozen or more horses milled about, attended by an equal number of servants, saddling steeds and loading bags. The girl set down her bucket near the kennels, then quickly crouched down as the doors to the castle proper creaked open, a large group of men exiting, all speaking loudly, excitedly. The girl's stomach clenched at the thought of another hunt, but it seemed a larger force than usual for a hunt. She spied Ramsay in the centre of the milling mass, donning his black gloves and looking about excitedly. She cast her eyes down, trying to blend into the shadows, and was relieved when he did not glance her way, merely strode past, taking the reigns of his horse and mounting it.

All the men were mounting up, though the hounds remained locked in their kennels, another sign it was not a hunt. Curious, the girl watched as Ramsay addressed an armored, brutish looking man who stood at attention beside the lord's horse, nodding seriously to whatever Ramsay was saying to him. She cocked her head to the side, straining to pick out the words over all the noise and activity.

"You're in charge of the castle until I return, Ser Corbus." She heard Ramsay saying over the din. "We shouldn't be more than a week out." The girl watched with wide eyes as the men wheeled their horses about and trotted away, the castle gate opening for them. She stayed frozen in place for a long while, mouth slightly open, listening until the buzz of the castle replaced their retreating hoofbeats. Eyes wide and disbelieveing, she could hardly believe such a thing had happened. Ramsay was really gone? For an entire week? She couldn't've anticipated this, even in her wildest dreams. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for- but she wasn't _ready_. She stood suddenly, uncaring who saw her, and ran into the kennels, hardened feet pounding against the stone as she rushed into her cell, setting her bucket roughly down in the corner.

Her blackened fingertips scratched feverishly at one of the floor stones in the opposite corner, scrabbling for purchase on the rough surface, until it finally caught, wiggling slowly back and forth as she worked it out, lifting it away to one side to reveal a tiny hole in the ground. Within was contained her small treasures- a handful of dried meat, wrapped delicately in a brown-stained old bandage wrapping, something she'd managed to hide one day after the maester had dressed a particularly bad skin-split from one of Ramsay's boy's boots. The maester had been so busy with other duties, he'd forgotten to come check the progress of her healing, and she'd been able to stash the bloody bandage away without question. She stared down at it now, the jerky tied together with the bandage, which she would be able to cinch around her waist for travel. It wasn't much in the way of provision, but it could mean the difference between life and death on the road. She'd gone hungry for multiple days, spaced out, to hide these small morsels. Sitting back on the stone, she sighed audibly, wracking her tired brain. It wasn't enough just to have a little food. She needed water, and something for her feet. Drawing one foot up into her lap for inspection, she peered down at it. Surely, it was much harder than it had been when they'd first taken her. The underside was entirely black and didn't have much sensation in it any longer, but it was hardly impenetrable, and one bad cut could slow her down, or leave a trail of blood for the hounds. She shivered, and slowly stood, a plan formulating in her mind.

The sun was high when the girl crouched some ways away from the house servant's outbuilding. There were clouds gathering on the horizon, but the sun still shone brightly for now, warming the air to a tolerable level, while a light breeze shivered through the trees. She was hiding behind the heather, just around the bend, peering through the tangled branches to where she could just see the door of the building. A creak echoed as the door was pushed open, causing the girl to jump a little, but this was what she had been waiting for. A gaggle of women exited the building, laughing and chattering loudly amongst themselves while they stepped down onto the dry earth, strolling slowly away down to the castle's western door. The girl knew through careful observation that the house women liked to take a stroll through the forests beside the castle whenever the Lord was occupied- she had heard the guardsmen complaining about their laziness one day after coming home from a long hunt. The girl waited until the women were out of sight, then stood, glancing all around warily, and shot towards the house, shuddering as the door creaked open at her touch, opening it only the slightest amount to allow herself to slide inside.

The inner chambers were shabby and smoke-blackened, dying embers still flickering in the hearth, one cloudy window providing enough light to see the many beds lining the walls of the long house. The girl's sharp eyes roamed around the sparse interior, trying to find something useful. She rummaged beneath one bed that had a particularly thick blanket when compared to the others, striking gold as her fingers clasped around soft leather. She pulled the item out from the straw mattress, dusting it off and holding it up to the dim light. The pair of soft, patched doeskin boots clutched between her fingers were worth more to her in that moment than a hundred gold dragons. Quickly, she sat down, pulling the boots over her dirty feet, straining a little to cram her toes into the narrow boot. It wasn't a good fit, but it was better than nothing, certainly. She removed the boot and folded it quickly, stuffing it into her tunic, looking around the room once more for what was needed. There, hanging on a rusty nail by the door, was an old waterskin, weathered, the strap obviously having been mended many times past. She lifted it reverently, shaking it to hear the tinkle of water contained inside. She removed it from the hook, holding it in one hand, suddenly at a loss for what to do. She couldn't hide both items in her tunic without being obviously encumbered, but neither could she decide between the two. Suddenly, she snapped to, not wanting to linger here any longer, and put an eye to the crack in the door. Just as she was about to slip out, the sound of armored boots rang in her ears, and she froze, peering out once more. A compliment of guards passed by the servant's quarters, oblivious to the girl's presence, one of them recounting a previous night's conquest of some serving girl, to which the others laughed and doubted good-naturedly. Once their laughter had faded into the distance, the girl slipped out, hopping down off the porch and slipping around behind the building. She searched until she found a particularly noticeable bit of brush poking out of the foundation, and scraped at the hard earth in front of it, until a small hole had been dug, then deposited the waterskin inside, covering it and patting it down, staring hard at the location to try and commit it to memory. Then, she turned, counting paces to the edge of the building, crouched down to try and hide the bulge of the boots in her tunic, and began to crawl home to the kennels.

The day that passed was one of the longest in the girl's memory. Even longer than her days healing from her brand, each moment stretching impossibly long as she watched the sun beam's progress across the wall of her cage. Near sundown, the kennelmaster came to gruffly throw a bit of jerky at her, which she ate immediately, wanting all her strength for the journey ahead. When the crickets had begun to chirp, and the moon was visible overhead, the girl pulled on her stolen boots, tied the dirty bandage full of food beneath her tunic, and headed out towards the women's house, pausing often to check her surroundings and dodge roaming patrols.

She approached the long building, counting steps until she came upon the bush where she'd buried the waterskin. For a terrible moment, she dug at the ground without finding anything but rock and root, cold dread settling in her stomach as she began to think she might not find it in the dark. Then, her fingers scraped against hard leather, and she began to reveal the skin. While she worked, she could hear murmured speaking from within the house, the volume rising now and then to where she could make out the content of various conversations.

"I swear Missus, I never took nothin!" A young girl's shrill voice pierced the wooden walls and drifted to the dog-girl's ears. She felt shame creeping up her neck, hot and prickly, as the sound of a belt hitting flesh echoed outward, punctuated each time by a shriek. The girl dug hastily, not bothering to fill in the hole, and hurried away from the house and it's noises as quickly as possible. She made a beeline towards the stables- after weeks of scouting and observation, she had learned there was an exit through the castle walls through the stables, used to set the horses out to pasture without requiring the opening of any main gates.

Firelight flickered in torches flanking either side of the arched stone doorway into the stables. The girl approached low, slinking along the ground and poking her head around the doorway, glancing around inside the brightly lit stables. Her heart leapt into her throat as she noticed two people near the table and chair that sat to one side, before the stalls proper began. It was a man and a woman, and they were embracing, the man seated on the chair, the woman upon his lap, as they kissed deeply. Luckily, the woman's back was to the door, and the man was more than occupied with her attentions, to notice the girl peering in at them. She hesitated, withdrawing a bit, as the pair broke away from one another and began to speak.

"I want you." The man said in a husky voice, breathing heavily.

"Yes," came the girl's breathy response, "but not here. I have a place." She giggled a little bit, and there was the scrape of the chair against stone as they stood. The girl panicked, looking around wildly for a hiding place, while the footsteps came nearer and nearer to her. Her brain seemed to freeze, unable to decide where to go. The pair burst through the open door, so close to the dog-girl she felt the brush of the woman's skirts against her skin, but neither paid her crouching form any mind, both laughing, hands entwined, hurrying away into the night. Once they were out of sight, the girl let out a huge inheld breath, and slipped inside the doorway before another person came to discover her.

Inside, the stables were nearly entirely empty. The stalls were all vacant, all the horses having been saddled and taken for this morning's expedition. Then, way in the back, she spied the black rump of the single remaining horse. Relief flooded her- a horse could make all the difference in her escape. Perhaps it was old, or lame, and that was why it had been left behind. Hopefully it wasn't unridable, they'd probably've killed it already if that was the case. She padded forward on her booted feet, the tall, broad rump of the horse growing larger each step she took. An uneasy feeling settled in her stomach as she approached the glossy black hair. The horse seemed to be in perfect health, but stomped angrily as she approached it, it's long thin ears pinned back flat against it's head. Indeed, waves of menace rolled off the beast palpably, drying the girl's mouth. She glanced around the stable for a blanket and rope, throwing both over her shoulder and turning to face the horse, who'd continued to stomp periodically, shifting it's weight back and forth impatiently, while turning it's head to eye the girl fiddling around behind it.

She spared a glance at the double wide doors at the far end of the stable, with a huge wooden plank barring them sturdily- the door that led to the pasture and her freedom. The plank looked massive and immobile, but she decided she would worry about that once she'd gotten the horse out and bridled. Gulping, she grasped the latch of the stall door and tugged, releasing the catch with an audible click, just as the horse was turning about to face her. The door swung wide and the two just stared at one another for a long moment, the girl nervously fiddling with her length of rope, suddenly daunted by the height and width of the beast before her. She reached out a trembling hand towards the horse's face, who immediately reared away from it, snorting loudly, then relaxed a little. Just as her fingertips touched the horse's soft nose, it's eyes widened and it reared in earnest, flailing legs too quickly for the girl to dodge, one of them taking her square in the chest and sending her flying backwards to land heavily against the stone wall opposite. All the wind fled her lungs as she hit, seeing stars, her head lolling limply. She came to her senses just in time to see the black horse hurtling towards her, and rolled to one side, feeling the wind of it's passing against her face as it brayed and galloped towards the interior castle doors. These inner double doors weren't secured by a giant plank as the outer ones were, and as the horse collided with them they ricocheted on their hinges, smashing against the stone walls with a resounding boom, the black steed passing through them and into the courtyard, kicking it's back legs as it went.

Crippling pain raidiated out from the girl's chest- every shallow breath was agony, and she struggled to stay conscious, sprawled in the dirt, while the clamour of the castle alarm rang in her ears. _No..._ she thought weakly, and must've passed out for a minute, because when she blinked again, the stableman was looking down at her with a perplexed expression, while uniformed guards filed into the stables, looking around wildly for the threat. Horse calls and shouts echoed in from outside, along with angry whinnies, and then she was gone again, carried away by the dark, where the pain followed her still, unrelenting.

All was quiet when she woke up, which might've been peaceful, save for the pounding ache in her back and head, as well as the shooting, seizing pain all across her chest. She shivered as she noticed the cold, blinking blearily in the dim light, noticing when she looked down at herself that she was completely naked,  horribly bruised, which wasn't half as alarming as the fact that her arms and legs were bound to thick wooden planks fashioned in the shape of a large X, just like the burnt X that marred half of her face. A silent scream welled up in her throat, but her bladder threatened to go if she let loose, so instead she clamped down, straining against her bindings as she swallowed the scream, a high pitched, shuddering whine the only thing that escaped her tightly closed lips. A single torch flickered on the wall, and the girl began to look about wildly, trying to find who had placed her like this, straining to turn about and see what might lay behind her, but after many long minutes, it became apparent that no one was around. Waiting, patiently, breathing through the stabbing pain in her chest, quiet tears began to run down the girl's dirty cheeks... but nobody came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to anyone who follows this story, it really means so much to have people enjoy it!! Things have been crazy with school starting, but I'll try and make time for writing when I can.


	8. Dog Training

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who likes my story. <3

The heavy wooden door creaked loudly, stabbing directly into the girl's throbbing skull. She cringed as a servant entered, carrying a fresh torch to replace the one guttering in the corner. He barely spared her a glance as he went about his work, not daring to look her in the eye, even when he had to feed her watery soup from a rough ladle. She drank gratefully, every muscle screaming at her, but the ladle was taken away far too soon, and her throat burned as she hung once more in the dark. It was impossible to tell how long she'd been bound in this position- it could be hours, it could be days, but all she wanted was for it to end.

Some time after the servant left, as she dozed in and out of a painful half-sleep, the door was opened again, and the girl felt all the breath flee from her lungs when Ramsay came into view of the torchlight, grinning as wickedly as ever, pausing before her with an appraising look, arms crossed, considering. He began to shake his head, perplexing the girl, until he spoke.

"No..." he began slowly, rubbing his face. "This is wrong." He gestured vaguely at her splayed form, and relief crept warily into her soul at his words. His hands moved slowly to his hip, unsheathing a dagger with a silvery sound, which set her heart racing once more. He brought it forth slowly, moving towards her skin, until the blade hovered so close she couldn't bear it any longer and began to squirm ineffectually away. He just rolled his eyes and made an impatient click of the tongue, then brought the blade down near her arm, slicing the bindings. Relief flooded her almost as much as pain, the blood beginning to circulate properly into the limb once more, causing fiery biting insects to spread out all along it. When he cut the other arm down, she fell forward, unable to support herself, her feet still bound to the lower supports. Ramsay caught her easily on his shoulder, making soft hushing sounds that both confused and comforted the girl, while he leaned down and sliced at the remaining foot bindings with his free hand. His dark wool clothing was softer than anything she could ever remember feeling.

Once she was free he lowered her gently to the stone floor and took a few steps back to watch her, nodding. Then, he turned towards the door he'd come in, addressing a servant standing in the shadows. "Bring water, and..." he considered, "The horse." The servant nodded and turned sharply on his heel, exiting. Fresh fear bubbled in the girl's stomach at the memory of the black stallion, but surely the beast wouldn't be able to fit down here... she blinked blearily at the human-sized door just to be certain, while Ramsay watched her from above with glinting eyes.

The servant returned quickly, carrying a bucket, which he set on the floor, and then two men brought in a strange piece of wooden furniture carried between them. It looked very similar to the saddle holders she had used at the inn, in another life, when her only worry had been finishing chores in time for dinner. Padded leather was stretched curiously over it’s arched top. The servants brought it over and set it in front of Ramsay, close enough that the girl began noticing leather straps near the base of the thing, the sight of which made her break out in a cold sweat, shivering silently on the stone floor. The servants quickly took their leave, nearly running from the room, abandoning the girl to Ramsay’s ministrations. He was checking the leather straps, pulling at them to test their strength. 

The girl couldn’t even lift herself fully into a sitting position- her limbs screamed in protest whenever she tried to move them- so she just lay exhausted on the cold floor where he'd left her. Ramsay walked over to where she lay, a pitiful sight, her short, pained breaths stirring the dusty floor. He grimaced, looking down on her, then bent to lift her, grabbing her under both arms and lifting her thin frame easily. This was the first tender contact she'd had in as long as she could remember, and she dug her fingers into the soft wool of his clothing, inhaling the clean scent of him as he shouldered her up and set her down onto the horse.

Certainly, the leather padding was meant to make the wood frame more comfortable, but the pressure on her bruised torso was excruciating, and she coughed, convulsing, nearly wretching with the pain that lanced through her ribs and back. Ramsay had stepped around to her front, and was looping the leather straps around her wrists, clinching them tight so her wrists were bound down to the wooden legs. He moved behind her and did the same with her legs, at knee and ankle so they were fully immobilized. He stepped back and observed her for a moment, while she breathed shallow and ragged through the pain, then came around to crouch before her face and address her directly.

"You're certainly a tough old bitch, I'll give you that." He was laughing. "I’m honestly amazed you’ve lasted this long. So, _bravo_." He gave her a little mocking round of applause. Then, his fingertips reached out to brush against the puckered red scar across her face, delicate, lingering awhile. The way he'd bound her didn't really allow her to move away from his touch, but she still flinched and strained a little, eyes squeezing shut while her mind raced with all the possibilities. She felt ill, and might've puked, but fought the impulse with all she had, thinking it unwise. Ramsay stood and dusted himself off, then walked over to the water bucket. The girl's interest piqued at that. Her throat burned with thirst, she nearly asked to be fed some, before thinking better of it. Ramsay simply lifted the bucket, turning to face her, then tossed the contents at her naked form in one fluid motion. The icy water splashed over her, drenching her, to where her breath caught, lungs momentarily too shocked to draw more air. When they started working again, she drew in one ragged gasp, teeth chattering, a full body shiver wracking her head to toe. She coughed and shook water out of her eyes, blinking furiously, spying Ramsay in the corner giggling silently at her. He struggled to control himself, visibly stuffing the mirth down, though he still looked pleased. 

“This is much better.” He said, surveying the scene. “The rack is for people. But you’re not a person, are you?” She fought to control the violent shivering. “Which, of course, begs the question of why you were in the stables, wearing _boots_.” He spat the word at her, and she cringed visibly, eyes squeezing shut. The air seemed to press in around them as she waited for him to continue. “You’ve forgotten your place,” he informed her, “You’ve forgotten what you are.” He paused then, impassive gaze burrowing into her. She wanted to hide, to escape it, and even began struggling in spite of the pain, for what little good it did. Just to escape those eyes. “Luckily, I am here to remind you.” He lay a hand on his breast, smiling serenely as if the Mother herself had sent him to bring her mercy to men. Ramsay stepped over to the door, while the girl felt hot tears streak down her cheeks, mixing with the cold water. She fought to be silent, biting hard on the inside of her cheek, hoping her sobs would seem only more shivers. 

Ramsay whistled sharply, raising the girl’s heart painfully high into her throat, eyes flying open, and she felt a rumbling as something heavy stirred from in the hall and bounded into the room, panting loudly, it’s claws clicking against the stone. Ramsay didn’t speak anymore, and the girl’s shocked and pain-cracked mind tried and failed to form a coherent idea of what was happening. The lord directed the hound towards, and it surged forward excitedly, wet nose sniffing her all over, it’s hot tongue lapping at her wet skin. She wondered absently if he was going to have the beast eat her slowly, one bite at a time, and her eyes flicked subconsciously to the scarred bite mark on her arm. 

The hound made multiple circles around her and an unspeakable dread began filling the girl’s stomach as it passed by her face. She noticed something long and dark hanging between it’s legs. After a few circles, the beast stopped behind her, ramming it’s snout into her exposed cunt, inhaling deeply before beginning to lick roughly at the thin moisture there. Her lips parted involuntarily, the sensations sending shocking jolts through her body. She had never been touched there, not by anyone. The matron of the inn had guarded her virtue fiercely, hoping one day she would marry and gain some bit of protection and security. Tears began flowing freely, blurring her vision, so that when Ramsay crouched in front of her, his face was just a pale, inhuman mask with the general approximation of a man’s features. His hand shot out to grab her face, fingers digging in painfully as he squeezed her cheeks together, causing her to hiccup a sob, blinking away the tears. He had a disgusted sneer on his face, squeezing her jaw so as to keep her mouth open; he angled back, working up a bit of saliva, and spit into her open mouth. 

The girl was shocked at first, not expecting such a thing. Then, wave of anger bubbled up from deep beneath her surface, so unexpected and foreign. She had been so focused on surviving, constantly afraid, never stopping to think about what was happening long enough to get angry. Yet here, in a dark room where time stood still, she lost all hope of escape, and in the vacuum of that emptiness, rage flowed in to sustain her. Her face contorted into an angry mask, and she spat back at Ramsay, clearing his taste from her mouth, her frothy spit landing heavily against his tunic and dripping. He looked down at it, shocked, then looked back up at her and burst into laughter. The sound echoed against the stone walls, seeming to come from every direction. He fell backwards from his crouch, sitting down heavily on the stone as the last of his laughter slowly died away, bright eyes refocusing on her with renewed interest. 

The hound had come away from her cunt to see his master, sniffing curiously at Ramsay where he sat on the ground. Ramsay locked eyes with her for one more lingering moment before pulling the dog by it’s collar around behind the girl. He slapped her ass invitingly, whistling and encouraging the beast with soft spoken words, until it grew excited enough to jump up and attempt to mount her. It’s weight was a torture in itself, pressing her broken body against the hard wooden horse, and she let out a strangled cry. “Oh, please, we haven’t even started yet!” Ramsay taunted her, attempting to help guide the dog inside her, who was already humping ineffectually against her leg. The girl stiffened as two fingers brushed against her soft cunt, finding some slickness there, then dug their way roughly inside. She let out another gasping cry that ended in a shakey sob. “Fuck, Bitch, but you are a tight one.” Ramsay’s fingers probed deeper, stretching her painfully until she let out a scream. “A virgin?” He wondered, spreading his two fingers wide inside her, causing a shooting pain like the girl had never felt before. “How perfect, then, that my hound will be the first to claim you. Like the dog you are.” He gave one last shove inside her, and she felt a sharp, searing pain that brought fresh tears. The hound had lost interest after a few failed humps, letting her breathe for a few precious moments, before he jumped back up at Ramsay’s urging and she felt as the lord guided the beast’s wet cock closer. The dog shifted itself, gaining a better position directly behind her, it’s sharp claws scraping bloody furrows into her exposed flesh, thrusting, _thrusting_ , until finally it slipped inside.

She had thought to remain quiet, detached, but within moments of the dog entering her, she realized what a foolish notion it had been. The thick cock pushed it’s way inside her already aching cunt with a savage ferocity, and her soft sobs quickly turned into hysterical shrieking. The hound was pounding away, grotesque wet slapping sounds echoing off the bare walls, audible despite the girl’s wretched wailing. Her loins burned with a fiery pain, the dog cock ramming it’s way so deep inside she thought it would pierce right through, stabbing up into her belly over and over with pitiless pace. Her squealing reached a crescendo as the dog lifted itself even higher onto her, crushing her against the horse, stealing her breath away as her bruised body was beared down upon, temporarily stopping her screams. The pounding seemed to last an eternity before it suddenly slowed and she felt a new, impossibly thick pressure pushing it’s way inside. She groaned breathlessly, lungs still unable to draw in a full breath, as the thing stretched her beyond her limit, the beast atop her slowly stilling it’s thrusts until it was just panting. After a long moment, beast and girl connected through opposite sensation, he hopped off, allowing her to draw in one long, ragged breath. Unfortunately, the thing’s cock was still shoved deep inside, and the knot that had partially entered her was wrenched free with a pop as the hound moved away. Upon drawing breath, she immediately burst into hysterical sobbing, partially due to the pain, and partially from the shock and violation of what had just happened. Cum and blood mixed together and dribbled down her pale thighs.

Her awareness of Ramsay had faded away the moment the dog fully mounted her, but it came back slowly, even as she shook and hiccuped with her weeping, as a slithery leather sound tickled her ears, barely audible above her loud sobs. Without warning, save for the whistle of air, a lash struck her back with a crack, immediately splitting her skin, and she screamed. She screamed until her voice broke, the shocking pain seeming to drive her hysteria to new levels. Tears flowed down her face as she wept, a whirlwind raging inside her, confusion, pain, hopelessness.... _CRACK_. The whip lashed her again, but her voice was all but gone, and the scream was strangely quiet, hoarse.

“What _is_ that?” Ramsay asked loudly from his position behind her. “Such a peculiar sound. I’ve never heard a dog make sounds like that.” The whip sailed through the air with a swoosh and sliced another line across her back. “It reminds me of the screams of those filthy peasant girls we leave for the crows.” He lashed her again, and again she gave a hoarse scream. He was breathing heavily, from exertion or excitement, and paused a moment to rest. “Of course,” he continued, “I’d never whip a dog. It’s a waste of energy. They either respect you, or they don’t.” Somewhere deep within the fog of her mind, an idea sparked. She could hear him shake out the whip, loosening his arm for another strike, and began whining in the back of her throat, like a dog. He struck again, and she forced her throat to constrict, cutting the scream off into a canine yipe of pain, and began whining again, the sound tremulous as she fought to stifle her sobs. Another strike, and another yipe from her, until she began to hear soft chuckling from behind.

A few soft footfalls, and she suddenly felt a hand stroke her matted hair tenderly, brushing some of it away from where it had plastered to her face. Her cheeks still ran with flowing tears, but she rolled her eyes up to glance submissively at Ramsay, whining quietly for forgiveness. He smiled at her, and she knew from his eyes that it was over. Relief and gratitude flowed into her broken body, she couldn’t help it.

“Good girl.”


End file.
